


Time in a Bottle

by missouterspace



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s), oc/george weasley - Freeform, tw: death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:39:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missouterspace/pseuds/missouterspace
Summary: It's been years since the Battle of Hogwarts and George still struggles with the loss of his brother. When nothing seems to make him happy in a world without his other half, his wife makes a difficult decision when she finds herself in possession of a time turner. She is willing to risk everything to bring Fred back, even if it means sacrificing herself.
Relationships: OC/George Weasley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Slow It Down

**Author's Note:**

> I do not associate myself with JK Rowling, nor do I support her as an author. With that being said, I also don't claim these characters as my own, except for my OC Lyra. It has been years since I read the books, I am currently on my second read through, so this story will primarily be influenced by headcanons, the films, and my memory of the novels until I catch up. Content warning for angst and grief. This starts off after Fred dies, but he won't be gone for long!

The Burrow had always been a place of joy and laughter, a home bustling with banter and playful squabbles. From the first moment Lyra had stepped foot in the shabby yet comfortable living room, she knew she would call this place home one day. She had grown accustomed to the sound of feet running down the stairs or pacing the hallways, of dishes clattering in the kitchen, of Molly shouting after her children to pick up their shoes. If she had to say anything about The Burrow, Lyra would say it was lively- but today it was silent. It had only been this quiet once before, years ago though it felt only days since Fred Weasley’s laughter had echoed through the walls of this place.  
Wool socks scuff the cold floors as the newest member of the Weasley family makes her way into the kitchen, hands working impatiently to wrap up a last minute gift to add to the growing pile beside the stairs. It’s not that she had forgotten, it’s just that her husband had been opposed to birthday gifts for so long that she didn’t know what to even get him. Carefully dropping the blue box on top of a large and poorly wrapped mound that must have been the blanket Ron had mentioned getting weeks ago, the sound of soft music interrupts the silence followed by Arthur Weasley happily exclaiming something about Moon River being his favorite muggle song. 

As soon as she enters the kitchen, Molly is pulling her into a warm hug. She smells of cinnamon and sugar and nutmeg, a sign that she had been baking all morning. Before either of them have a chance to say anything, Arthur is turning the dials of his radio until the device is at full volume and filling the kitchen with old jazz.  
“The muggles really do have such interesting music!” 

Once Molly has released the woman from her embrace, she is bustling around the kitchen once more to get everything neat and orderly. There’s several bouquets of flowers addressed to G Weasley, a spectacle that will undoubtedly warm George's heart. “Do you mind if I bring one of these up to him while he’s waking up?” Thin hands ghost the stem of a lush, pink rose. 

“Of course, dear, just be wary of the thorns.” Before Lyra has even plucked the flower, Molly adds, “And bring this up to him. He’ll want to be wide awake when he sees Charlie’s surprise.” 

With a warm mug of tea and a blush rose in hand, Lyra turns out of the kitchen and heads for the stairs, passing a disheveled Percy on her way. With a warm smile, she silently wonders when was the last time the entire Weasley family had slept under the same roof. The music from Arthur’s radio fades as she ascends the stairs, careful not to spill the hot tea or drop the mug altogether. Placing the stem of the rose between her teeth so she had a free hand to open the bedroom door, she offers a knock before entering. She was expecting her husband to still be sleeping, but he was dressed and standing in front of the full length mirror in the corner of the room, the ghost of a smile etched onto his pale face though his eyes were distant. He seemed to be lost in thought- or a memory. 

“George,” Lyra whispers, careful not to startle him if he hadn’t noticed her come into the room. But he doesn’t move, eyes fixed on the same spot in the mirror. “Georgie, your mum wanted me to bring you this-” The rose is nestled in between her fingers as she sets the mug down on the dresser, warm eyes watching the man as he finally looks at her reflection behind him. He can’t bring himself to speak, to say thank you, but he doesn’t have to. Leaving the rose forgotten on the nightstand, she takes a few slow steps towards him. “What are you doing, Georgie?” 

Freckled lips move to speak, but only a soft sigh escapes him. Had she not been standing directly beside him now, she would have missed it. Her arm snakes around his waist in an attempt to draw his attention away from the mirror. It takes him a moment before he’s finally turning towards her, his own arms pulling her into his chest. He remains silent, something that was more common now than when she had first fallen in love with him. With her ear pressed to the buttons of his shirt, she can hear his heart thumping dully under the fabric as he begins to sway. If they strained hard enough, they could hear the soft drone of the radio downstairs, but George had his own melody in his head, slow and sad. With one last glance towards the mirror, he closes his eyes and leads her away from their reflection. 

She knows this is a day everyone expects to be bittersweet, she knows everyone will be patient with him, and she knows to take things at his pace. The words “happy birthday” begin to form on her tongue but she stalls, feeling his hands gripping her waist tighter, his body shaking against hers. “George-” Her voice is a breathless whisper, his own voice coming out in soft sobs muffled by her shoulder. Long fingers trace his spine in a soothing motion, allowing him to hold her as tight as he needed to. His breathing begins to quicken, his cries becoming strangled. “Remember to breathe, sweetheart.” 

It was as if he had forgotten how to breathe entirely, as if he were trying his hardest to gift his last breath to his brother, who was now in a place he could not reach. He had tried for so long to stifle these feelings, to pretend like he was okay, only now did he realize bottling up his pain was a very bad idea. His face is buried in the curve of her neck, warm tears soaking into the knitted fabric of her golden jumper. With his eyes closed tight, he’s imagining his brother- the last time he had been breathing. Was there anything George could have done? Was this somehow his fault? Could he have stopped it? He’s no longer making any noise, his sobs silently wracking his body until his throat burns with the urge to scream. He won’t, he couldn’t. He doesn’t have it in him. 

“Slow it down, breathe,” his wife whispers into his good ear, eliciting a shiver. His legs are weak now and he finds himself buckling under the weight of his pain. Lyra catches him, leading him towards the bed gently until they both collapse on the soft mattress. She hasn’t seen him this upset since the week before their wedding when he had mistakenly addressed a last minute invitation to Fred. “I’m here-”

George lifts his tear stained face, his dark eyes reaching her gaze at last. It takes everything he has to speak, lips curving into an attempt at a smile. “Only your love can dig me out of this…” Her hand sweeps a strand of ginger hair from his forehead, her own lips forming a soft, "I know."

As he pulls away to straighten his shirt and dry his face, she reaches for the rose on the night table. “Your family has quite the party for you downstairs.”

“I know-” His voice comes in a soft gasp followed by a hiccup. This was the cue to give him the tea. “I already heard about Charlie’s surprise. Overheard Ron and Harry in the hallway last night. I don't know what he's thinking bringing a dragon home-” 

A gentle laugh escapes her as she extends the warm mug towards him. If he thought Charlie's dragon would be the most outlandish surprise, she was nervous to see his expression when he opened hers. She can only imagine his response to the tiny silver hourglass and she wonders if he will know what it is the moment he sees it. 

“Happy birthday, Georgie.” 

Large hands refuse the mug, landing instead on his wife’s face to bring her in for a kiss, lips still salty with tears. When they’re both ready to go downstairs for breakfast, George is the last one out of the bedroom. Turning to close the door behind them, he casts one last glance towards the mirror and whispers, 

“Happy birthday, Fred.”


	2. Blow Out All the Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George opens his gift from Lyra, but his reaction is not what she's expecting.

Lyra watches him force a smile the rest of the morning, a performance that turns into genuine joy upon seeing Charlie’s surprise. The joy doesn’t last long, however; as soon as he realizes the warm feeling bursting inside of his chest, the corners of his lips give into a frown. “Fred would have loved this.” His voice is steady but there’s a hint of discomfort, as if he is wrestling with his resolve to keep himself together. Lyra recognizes this fragile strength- the same effort he gave during their wedding. She can’t fault him for what he feels,  _ no one could _ . She watches as he takes in a deep breath that wracks his entire body, and then he’s forcing another smile that doesn’t fool any one of them. He is content to have the tiny newborn dragon sitting on his shoulder the rest of the afternoon, allowing it to nibble his good ear every once in a while as a pleasant distraction from the emptiness growing in his chest. It is only when the beast attempts to relight the birthday candles on George's cake and nearly singes his hair that Charlie suggests it's time to have a break.

By the time the sun goes down that evening, he is ready for the celebrations to be over. All that was left to do was open gifts and George was resisting the temptation to tell everyone to go to bed and let him do it alone. Before he can say anything, Molly is thrusting a lumpy but neatly wrapped parcel into his grasp. He recognizes the contents immediately. His hands begin to shake as he tears into the smooth wrapping paper, his heart thumping loudly in his throat. This is the first time since Fred’s passing that he had been given a Weasley sweater, the first time Molly had been able to stomach knitting for any of her children. This jumper doesn’t have the usual G woven into it and he is thankful for that. . . _it wouldn’t have felt right_. His mouth is suddenly dry, shaking fingers clutching the sapphire blue jumper in an attempt to steady his hands. “Thanks, mum.”  _ It takes everything he has just to say that. _

The pile of gifts slowly dwindles down to a few small boxes. The blanket from Ron lay across George’s lap along with a box of chocolate frogs from Ginny and the sweater he can’t bear to put on. When only the gift from his wife was left to open, Lyra clears her throat. Harry is the first to realize that was a cue for everyone to leave and give them some time alone. “Let’s take another look at that dragon, Charlie?” One by one, each Weasley follows him out into the garden, leaving George and Lyra alone for the first time since morning.  She expects him to give up the performance, to let her see how he was really feeling, but even when he doesn’t drop his guard, she knows the signs. “You don’t have to open it now, I can see you’re overwhelmed.” Delicately, she places the box on the table beside him and uses her now free hand to push a strand of ginger hair from his freckled face. “How are you feeling, Georgie?”

A shiver runs down his spine, blood turned to ice at those words.  _ Words he had once heard Fred speak. _ Despite the blanket on his lap, the room had become unbearably cold. He shakes his head, taking the box into his hands and carefully pulling the ribbon undone. The look of confusion that passes his features once the parcel is open brings a hint of a smile to Lyra’s face. He looks amused and bewildered all the same. Inside the poorly wrapped packaging was a silver hourglass fastened to a chain,  _ some sort of necklace _ , he guessed.

“It’s a time turner.”

His eyes snap up to lock with hers. He had so many questions but his thoughts were racing so fast he couldn’t decide on what to say.

“Please don’t ask me how I acquired this. I will tell you eventually, but that isn’t important right now-”

Her words are interrupted by a wry grin and a soft chuckle. “Since when have you been so mischievous?” His dark eyes are lit up in a way she hasn’t seen for weeks, and he seems far more interested in the story of how she’s acquired such a thing than he is in the actual gift. 

“I had to bend some rules.”

“Wicked girl!”

“We have limited time with it, we can’t keep it forever…”

His smile begins to falter. “Alright, so what does it do?”

It’s her turn to frown, something that breaks her heart when she sees his smile fading as well. “It can, well, turn back time. It’s not typically suggested to do it for more than a few hours all at once…”  _ George’s smile fades evermore _ . “But...considering the effort it took to have possession of this, I thought we -err, you- might at least try once.” 

Suddenly everything comes together in his head and Lyra can feel the energy of the conversation turn sour. Gently, George places the object back in the box and passes it back to her, eyes avoiding hers. “George, I thought you could use it to see Fred one last time-”

“I can’t.” His voice breaks and he rises suddenly to his feet. “I can’t relive memories of him knowing I’ll never make anymore. I can’t use this knowing I have to give it up eventually. Thank you but I-” His chest is tight, jaw clenched even tighter as he struggles to fight back tears. He’s been on edge all day, he’s bottled everything up and now it was all becoming too much. “I’m sorry.”

“No, George,  _ I’m sorry _ . I didn’t mean to-”

“I know nothing can bring him back.”

_Bring him back._ She hadn’t even thought of that. Before she can voice her thoughts, her husband is already headed towards the stairs and she lets him go. He hasn’t had a moment alone all day, and he deserved that. She can hear the bedroom door shut upstairs, the rest of the family talking in hushed voices outside.  _ It all felt wrong _ . Nothing was the same without Fred Weasley.  _ If only there was a way to bring him back. _

Lyra reaches for the trinket, silently cursing herself for thinking this was a good idea. She had to pull some strings with a friend who worked for the ministry, and she had done so completely reckless and without even considering the possibility that George would not want it.  _ Or maybe he did, maybe he wanted it so bad that he knew he shouldn’t have even a taste of it.  _ Perhaps she had been careless...vacant eyes stare into the flames flickering in the hearth, lost in thought.  The time turner is heavy in her hands, but it’s only as she mindlessly pulls it around her neck that she feels its true weight. She knows the risk, even as she’s holding the tiny hourglass between her fingers she’s reminding herself that this could change everything. But she had to do it.  _ She had to bring him back. She had to, for George. _


	3. Faded Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra uses the time turner to bring Fred back, but it takes an unexpected turn.

It takes quite a few turns until she’s got it right. The warmth around her fades to a bitter cold that chills her to the bone. The sofa beneath her has turned to stone, the walls that were once decorated in family portraits were now barren- and though they were sturdy, they loomed over her in such a way she felt as if they would cave in on her. The castle that once felt like home was now shrouded in darkness, save for the occasional blinding flash of red and green light. For a moment, she’s lost in trance, staring at her surroundings in disbelief.  _ It worked _ . Dread fills her, her throat suddenly tight around her shallow breath. She had spent many nights trying to forget this, and here she was again. She tries her hardest to remember what she’s erased from her memory, trying to recall where she was in this exact moment. She had been fighting at Lavender’s side until they got separated. Had she stayed with her maybe the girl would still be alive, but she can’t let herself feel guilty now.  _ She has to find Fred. _

She’s pulling herself to her feet when she hears the distant echo of Percy Weasley’s voice and it is only as she’s making a move to follow the sound that she catches a glimpse of familiar ginger hair. Her heart stops beating in her chest, her blood turning to ice in her veins as she watches George brandish his wand to block a curse sent his way from a sturdy looking man with dark hair and a twisted grin. Her instinct is to call out to him, to run to her husband’s side, and then she remembers-  _ He is not her husband yet. _ The time turner around her neck feels like an anchor now, tethering her to a reality where she has to watch the man she loves from a distance. A reality where she feels helpless. Reluctantly, she pulls herself away and forces her feet to carry her further from him- but she doesn’t put the thought of him out of her mind until his visage is replaced by the splitting image of him. 

If Lyra hadn’t been breathless before, she certainly couldn’t breathe now. But  _ he _ was breathing. For years she had only seen this man in glimpses of George’s reflection or in dreams and memories, and now he was here  _ alive _ as she struggled to wrap her head around what was unfolding before her. “Fred-”

The man turns towards her, a lopsided grin teasing the corners of his freckled lips. “Lyra, you’re looking a bit pale. One shade lighter and you’d be transparent!”

She had indeed felt the color drain from her cheeks, her once sun kissed skin turning a ghastly snow-white. It felt like a dream, a very violent dream, but the sudden rush of adrenaline that shot through her reminded her that it was very real. 

“Fred, you can’t stay here-”

“What are you talking about, darling? Percy and I are just getting warmed up!”

In that moment, they find themselves cornered by a pair of masked and hooded men. Lyra fumbles for her wand, suddenly feeling just as helpless as if she were in a nightmare. Before she has a chance to defend herself, a jet of green light is sent her way and she holds her breath, waiting for impact. Fred blocks the curse with ease, giving the girl enough time to gain her composure.  _ She was here to save him, not to be saved by him.  _

Stepping in front of him, she flourishes her wand and sends a binding spell towards the hooded figure. Flashes of red and green fill the hall as Percy, Fred, and Lyra fought against their attackers. The instant Fred has the man buckling under a stunning spell, she knows it’s time. 

“ _ Fred you have to go now _ .”

“What are you on about?”

She hears Percy’s voice cut through the chaos, but she can’t make out what he’s saying, her ears ringing. She drops her guard for a moment, turning to face Fred who was smiling at Percy as if his brother had just cracked a joke. She reaches for him, gripping his arm and pulling him out of the small crowd that was forming. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Percy now stood behind them as she struggled against the man’s weight.

“George needs you, go!” The fabric of his jacket barely leaves her fingertips when she feels a sudden blast knocking her through the air.  _ Had she pushed him away far enough? Had she made a mistake? _ The last thing she sees before everything goes dark is a flash of fiery red hair as she’s in free-fall.  _ This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.  _

When she opens her eyes again, the castle is no longer in ruins. Bright sunlight seeps through the large windows, blinding her at once. She attempts to sit up but a familiar pair of hands ease her back down. “You hit your head quite hard.”

“We thought you were done for.”

_ She knows those voices.  _

“That was a nasty tumble,” Fred quips, sitting beside her. It is only when she feels the weight of the mattress shift that she realizes she is no longer on the ground. She opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. 

“Good news is your broom survived the fall.” That was  _ his _ voice, George’s voice. Her eyes snap open, braving the light to squint up at him. “Madam Pomfrey didn’t mention anything about a head injury, but-”

“You’re not looking so good, Ly.”

There they were, the twins standing beside one another again, both smiling. But they looked younger, more innocent.  _ Had she died? _ “What happened?”

“What happened?” Echoed Fred. “We nearly beat Hufflepuff until you fell off your broom.” 

Lyra blinks hard, staring up at George. There’s something odd in his gaze, something familiar yet so far away from what she had gotten accustomed to when they were in love. It became evermore apparent that she had somehow gone further back in time somehow. Hands reach for her neck for the time turner only to feel nothing.  _ Had she lost it? Had it been broken? _ There were too many questions and the twins looming over her didn’t seem to know anything more than she did.

“What...what year is it?”

The twins exchange worried glances. 

“Blimey, she  _ has _ hit her head, hasn’t she?”

George leans over her, waving a hand in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up, Ly?” Of course he wouldn’t sit still, putting one finger down then two up then one down again. When she gives no answer, he sighs and drops his hand. “That’s a concussion, alright.” 

“I’m being serious, George-” Her throat is dry, her voice strained. “What year is it?”

Fred is the one to answer, “1996.”





	4. Florescent Adolescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyra struggles with adjusting to her new surroundings, remembering her past with George.

_ 1996. _

That was the year she would graduate, and that summer she would fall in love with George Weasley. He would never know the extent of her feelings until after the Battle of Hogwarts, and now she was stuck reliving each moment she didn’t tell him how she felt. Looking into his eyes now as he spent each afternoon visiting her in the hospital wing, she was haunted by memories that hadn’t even happened yet.

***

_ Summer of 1996 _

“You look like you can’t swim-”

The warm sun is scorching through Lyra’s lilac summer dress, beads of sweat forming at the back of her neck under her golden blonde hair. She has to squint to see George Weasley’s face through the blinding afternoon light, but even then she can see the look of utter shock on his face. A bony finger prods her rib cage and she’s forced to turn her attention to Fred Weasley, who is contorting his freckled face into an expression not unlike his brother’s.

“Oi! What do you mean he can’t swim?”

“You look like you can’t swim either.”

A look of determination crosses his pale features, but his swelling confidence is soon replaced by amusement as George wraps his arms tight around the girl’s waist and picks her up off the ground. 

With a sharp squeal, Lyra kicks her legs in protest but to no avail. “Put me down, Weasley!” She attempts to pry his arms away from her, but his hold on her doesn’t falter. In truth, she isn’t uncomfortable in his grasp, on the contrary she’s a little  _ too _ comfortable. “George, put me down!”

“Not until you take it back, Ly.” There’s a hint of mischief in his voice, his warm breath hot against her ear. 

It’s impossible to hide the blush that creeps up her neck, a soft red glow spreading across her cheeks. She silently hopes she can pass it off as a sunburn. “I’m serious, George.”

“So am I.” George hoists her up so she’s nearly sitting on his shoulder, using their difference of height to his advantage. “If you won’t take it back, we’ll have to just prove you wrong.” 

Lyra suddenly regrets bringing the twins home for the first week of summer, knowing her father would be staring out at them from the kitchen window as George parades her around the garden on his shoulder. She is grateful when they fade from view of the house, Fred leading them down a grassy hill towards the lake that isolated them from any neighbors. She knows what’s about to happen before they even reach the boat dock. “George Fabian Weasley, don’t you dare!”

With a quick glance toward his brother, George locks his arms around her legs and leans towards Fred, who loops his arms through hers. With both twins carrying her, she has no chance to break free.

“Alright alright! I take it back!”

“It’s too late now,” Fred quips as the brothers begin to swing her back and forth.

“One-” George begins to count out loud.

“Two…”

“Three!”

All at once, the twins let go of her, propelling her towards the lake where she lands with a satisfying  _ splash _ . For a moment, Lyra is stunned by the freezing water that soaks through her clothes, drenching her hair, and then she breaks the surface with a deep gasp. Before she has time to open her eyes, both twins are cannon-balling into the frigid waters. She doesn’t know when the pair had time to strip their shirts off before jumping in with her, but when her eyes land on a bare shouldered George, her blush returns. 

“You boys are wicked,” she scoffs, splashing them both in a fit of annoyance. 

“Come on sweetheart, we’re just having fun.” It wasn’t unusual for either of them to use pet names with her, but something in his voice made her breath hitch and her stomach twist in knots. Before she can retort, she finds his arms snaking around her waist again. This time she doesn’t fight back, hands moving up his arms gracefully.

A strange look passes his face and she could swear she sees admiration in his gaze- and then she’s pushing him down under the water. 

“You’re drowning him!” Fred howls in mock horror, lunging forward to grab onto them both.

Caught between the twins, Lyra finds herself bobbing in and out of the water, all taking turns pushing each other down until she finally breaks free. 

***

She had been so happy that day as they dried off, stretched out in the grass side by side under the hot sun. The twins were her best friends, that could never change. But now, having gone further back in time than she had meant to, would George still fall in love with her the same way? She was terrified of ruining everything she had with him, but even then it would be worth it if Fred had the chance to grow old with his twin. 

When Madam Pompfrey allows her to leave the hospital wing, the first thing she does is search her dormitory for any sign of the time turner. She searches the entire room to no avail, turning her suitcase inside out and tossing all of her belongings on her four poster bed. There was no sign of her life after all of this, no sign of her future.  _ Was it gone? _ Her heart ached to think she would never live the memories she held onto so dearly.  _ Would she never marry George? _

A voice breaks through her thoughts, startling her. “What in Merlin’s beard are you doing, Lyra? This room is a mess!”

Lyra whips around, eyes wide with shock. “George you’re not supposed to be here, this is the girls’ dormitories!” 

“When have you ever cared about that?” Without an invitation, he slinks into the room, shoulders drooping as he looks around the room. “You haven’t lost it have you?”

Those words feel like a punch in the gut and Lyra finds herself shaking. “Lost what?” Her voice raises in pitch, much to her horror. 

“Your mind...Have you lost your mind?” Cautiously, he reaches over and places a hand over her forehead. 

“I’m fine-”

“That doesn’t sound convincing.” 

“Really, I am.”

George narrows his eyes in disbelief, dropping his hand to now rest on her shoulder. Lyra had forgotten how close they had always been, even before their relationship. It was hard not to lean into his touch, but she knows the risk of altering their past.  _ Or rather, their future _ . 

“Fred and I have been worried about you. You hit your head pretty hard. We thought maybe you wouldn’t remember us.” 

Lyra’s warm gaze locks with his and she can feel her heart pounding in her chest. Even when they were married, she never did learn how to control her nerves. For a moment she doesn’t speak, weighing every possible outcome in her head. She could tell him everything, but then maybe he would say she’s crazy. Maybe he would say he couldn’t possibly marry her. Maybe he would be angry at the implication that Fred would be taken from him. She draws the conclusion that she cannot tell him, she must figure this out alone. “Why are you here?” Her voice comes out in a whisper much softer than she intends.

“To make sure my best friend is okay.”

_ Best friend _ . Never before had those words felt so heavy. A deep sigh swells in her chest, her gaze flickering between his hazel eyes and his lips. “I’m okay, George.” 

His name sounds strained, eliciting a frown. “Have I done something, Lyra?” 

He reaches a hand to grasp her chin and she forces herself away from him. “No, you haven’t. I don’t feel well. I need to be alone.”  _ Was she making it worse? _

After a long silence, George clears his throat and bends over to pick up a sweater she had thrown carelessly to the floor. “This is my jumper…” His voice is a low hush now. “I was wondering where that went.”

“You can have it back-” The look of remorse on his face makes her regret her words immediately. “Only if you want...I don’t mind.”

“No,” he sighs. “I gave it to you. Looks better on you anyways. I don’t know why mum keeps giving me blue. It’s not my color.”

She smiles for the first time, remembering what he wore on their wedding day. _ A blue waist coat and matching tie _ . “I think blue suits you, George.” 

“Then I guess I’ll take this.” With that, he offers her a forced smile and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Lyra crumples into the pile of clothes on the floor the moment she hears his footsteps on the stairs, her breath caught in her throat as she stifles a sob. 

***

“My dress is ruined.”

“Come on, Ly, it’s only water,” Fred counters, drying his hair with his shirt.

Instead of following suit, George extends his own shirt towards Lyra, an attempt at a condolence. “Here, this will keep you dry.”

_ It was at that moment that Lyra knew she would love George for the rest of her life. In fact, she always had. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think so far! This is fun to write but I want to know how it's being received :)

**Author's Note:**

> This idea is based off of a tiktok I made where my OC uses a time turner to take Fred's place in the Battle of Hogwarts.  
> Follow me on twitter @missouterspace3


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